i plead forgiveness
by Timeo Concelo
Summary: Aylin Yates, a witch healer harbored miles away from the town of Luxon, tries to save more people than her mother killed as an act of self redemption. But when she encounters enigmatic Syren James, a prince who masquerades as a commoner, and saves him, the royal family takes an interest in Aylin. Now, she's being courted by royal men when falling in love is forbidden as a witch...


Winter crawled into Luxon with the gait of a wounded soldier, sluggish and limp.

Spitefully, brimmed in bitter loss, it drags down the heat until the town is drenched in a thick layer of snow. I've always exchanged a bittersweet regard to the pale season – while the beauty of December's display is immeasurably spectacular, in its sparkling white dress and frozen lingering breaths, the weather conditions tend to thin my usual stream of customers which isn't much by the daily either.

I don't receive visitors often, but I only have my parentage to blame; had my mother not been a notorious fugitive, I would've been able to advertise my assistance where population is booming – I wouldn't have to root myself a severe distance away from town.

Like few witches, I've settled in the woods where I'm caged by a sea of towering trees and perpetually dealing with stubborn forest animals who see me as a form of entertainment. The only creature here who has earned my respect and nurturing care is Luther – an odd type of snake that once accompanied my mother and now me in our "ridiculous endeavors" as he loves to phrase it.

You could say that I refer to him as my replacement mentor ever since I had to isolate myself from humanity. Besides the occasional clients here for business, I only have Luther to guide me, especially after I was orphaned.

Even now, he scolds me like I'm six summers old with a head heavy in grief. I suppose, on days where the skies are grey and dreary, I revert back to when I was a child, when I suffered the loss of both my parents like a sword to the gut.

"Get your mind out of the ground, girl," he would hiss. "They're dead. Forget them, they both abandoned you to pursue their own selfish desires. Your mother and father don't deserve your mourning, okay?"

I'd nod in response or any other gesture that meant the same and Luther would complain about some trivial issue and we would bask in each other's company as most lonely souls tend to do. Luther suffers the same pains I do, he's faced it numerous times as generations pass and people he's grown fond of drop dead like worthless flies. Somehow, it gives me strength to know this, to know Luther has felt it and still sees the sun rise the next day.

My tenacious aspiration has done nothing to deter the immortal snake; Luther believes I could do it – he has faith in me which is more than my parents had ever gifted me with. He knows I could save more lives than my mother has ever killed.

Luther knows maybe then, I could seek forgiveness in myself.

"A shilling for your thoughts?" a voice interrupts. I flinch, violently, and I almost drop the leather-bound book I was inspecting. I must've lost myself in the midst of my scrutiny – a bad habit of mine that comes with keeping only a snake as reliable companionship.

My head perks up so I could find the owner of the voice. There was barely any struggle – a man stood to the right of myself, garbed in a simple white tunic and trousers. His ill-fitting clothes obscured any sign of muscle or weapon which did nothing to alleviate my worries; after all, my mother was responsible for many gruesome deaths – a suitable reason why paranoia is a common theme in my mind when I visit town. It's why I hang my head low and shadow my face with a hood so residents can't recognize my facial features unless they peer further. Luther doesn't understand my fear. Nobody knew she had given birth to a child.

However, the man held no article of clothing on his person that implied he was an authority figure so I slackened my posture. I'm not the criminal. I've done nothing to warrant a death sentence.

(A dangerous part of myself rasps that I am – I'm the daughter of a witch and a murderer. I can't be forgiven. I should have been executed beside my mother.)

"How foolish you must be," I hear myself say, "to dress yourself in such thin clothes." My words come out harsher than I had intended, incentive enough for this tall stranger to throw me out into the snow. Although, I find it necessary to be as much as a bitch as I can be, so then at least people would know to leave me to my own company.

Strangely enough, he seems to be amused.

"Rude." He pauses as if he's starting to doubt his chosen outfit as well. "But true."

"Are you not chilled enough by Luxon's winter to notice your stupidity without me, oh good sir?" I say. I place the book back in its spot on the dusty shelves and face him completely. The man makes a sour face.

"Please, fair maiden, you can call me Samuel."

"That would be improper of me," I respond.

"Ah, then why won't you tell me your name then, miss?" he grins, obviously delighted by our conversation.

I think for a moment. Should I tell him my name? It shouldn't be too much of a risk, after all. There's a part of me that's scared Samuel might find out about me somehow if I shared my name but he doesn't suspect me of being a witch or the daughter of a homicidal whore or the fact that said homicidal whore even reproduced at all.

"Aylin," I say finally. In that moment, I decide I like his eyes when he's pleased. They're a sweet sort of brown, the kind that melts easy.

I must've been staring for a couple seconds too long at his ( _warm, cocoa, sweet—_ ) eyes, because Samuel clears his throat.

"Falling in love with me, are you?" he jokes and I flush into a gentle shade of pink.

I'm a witch harbored a long way from Luxon, and with my parents, Luther, and my ambition, I barely have a moment to fantasize the notion of romance. It's not that Samuel isn't attractive, because he is, really. I wouldn't be surprised if women clung to his sides, but it doesn't seem to fit his type. He's got a soft look, the appearance of a man who'd devote himself to his work and his family if it does come to it. I'm sure he'd be a wonderful father and a loyal husband to his spouse.

It's just, witches aren't to be married off with some man and live happily together – always, a tragedy thunders into their lives and in some way or another, the man ends up dying or he kills his wife. Either option, it always occurs.

My mother had been a wild one in her prime years and used to work at a tavern in some other town. According to Luther, she slept with men like she needed oxygen – she just kept going at it until something went wrong and she became pregnant with me. My father felt obligated to stay with her once he found out that she carried his child. For some reason, he ended up leaving. My mother, when she was still alive, refused to tell me why.

When I ask Luther, he simply replies, "It's her secret, not mine. She made me promise not to reveal anything, so you can stop fretting over it, girl."

I've always assumed he had died like most men do when they bind themselves to a witch for the rest of their lives, but sometimes I wonder otherwise.

"Hello? Lost yourself again, Aylin?" Samuel asks, waving a hand in front of my face. I blush and shake my head.

"Ah, back here now?" he says. "You aren't actually falling for me, are you?"

"Why would I?" I huff fitfully. A tinge of pink lingers on my cheeks much to my irritation.

"Well," he drawls, "You're of marital age." Samuel taps his chin, pretending to think. "You're a woman." Another one of those wide grins stretch across his face. "And… you're beautiful. Why _wouldn't_ you?"

My face burns in embarrassment.

"What are you even doing here?" I say hotly. Why is he even talking to me?

"Trying to get women in my trousers, obviously," Samuel responds but I could tell he wasn't serious about it. I still choke on my own saliva.

"What are you doing here?" I repeat after I collect myself and Samuel stops laughing. Really, he's getting on my nerves.

"I own the bookstore. The upstairs is where I live, dearest _Aylin_." He's mocking me now. Great.

"Please do shut up," I say and, much too quickly, turn back to the shelves, fingers brushing against the spines of recently constructed novels as I attempt to find a book for Luther.

Every couple weeks, I suit myself up in a hooded cloak and a plain gown, leather satchel strapped to my side, and I leave the woods to enter town. Mostly, I come to restock my food storage and sometimes a new dress to replace my old patched up ones. Luther, once in a while, sends me on a request – a new book to amuse himself in the hours we spend apart.

"Ignoring me again, huh," Samuel chuckles. "I'll leave you to it. Bye, Aylin. Until we meet again."

My ears strain to hear his footsteps walk in the opposite direction. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Men can be so infuriating.

Time slips past my grasp and after selecting a novel that isn't familiar to my home, I purchase it and leave the store with my mind stuck on Samuel.

What a bastard.

The rest of my day consists of perusing the market and finally heading home by foot with a bag bulging with today's groceries. I easily forget about our encounter when the afternoon wind exhales sharply and I'm shivering as the cold prickles underneath my skin. Little snowflakes dance with the breeze, twisting and sharp – I could already predict that a snowstorm was planned to arrive in an hour or so.

Hurrying home is a challenging feat, especially when my shoes sink into the snow and I have to trudge on with soaked boots. It's just my luck that the weather was going to take an eventful twist the day I visit town. It's been quiet for the last couple days, too.

"If I die in the snow, Luther better mourn," I grumble to myself and I continue on my way, trying not to get lost which is easy to do when all the trees look similar to the last.

Once I reach a certain clearing in the woods, where the snow appears to be untouched and pristine, I flick my wrist carelessly. The image wavers and I glimpse the cottage that lay beneath the illusion.

"Come on," I sigh, and flick my wrist again. This time, the illusion falls for a couple seconds – enough for me to slip through my magic barrier and make a run to the door. I barely managed to make it. Luther would be groaning at my chances to fulfill my ambition at this point.

Warmth envelopes my shivering body after I unlock my door and get inside. Luther must've activated a heat charm while I was gone, thank goodness for small mercies. My tense muscles relax and I unclasp my cloak, hanging it on a rack next to the door. Frost that had creeped onto my clothes during my trip melted into damp stains on fabric. I feel much too soggy to be comfortable with that in mind.

"Luther?" I call out, knowing he'd be lurking around somewhere. "I got you a book, you best get over here and read it now, you git."

My feet drag on the floor as I head to the kitchen and throw my satchel of purchases on the table. With an exhausted sigh, I begin to unpack produce and loaves of bread, awaiting Luther's dramatic entrance. It seems all too quick when I finish my task of stuffing the food in our storage – Luther should've come over by now.

Dread pools down in my stomach. Something's not right.

"Luther?" I say again. I stay quiet in hope for a familiar hiss to respond.

Instead, I hear something crash upstairs. I rush, ascending up the stairs, in search for where my ears had identified the sound in a fit of panic. A shatter of glass echoes from my bedroom and I'm quick to slam open the door.

"Luther?" I cry but my scaly companion wasn't there. What took his place was a man collapsed on my floor, rivulets of crimson streaming from his lips, and a chest bloodied by a gash across where his heart should be.

"Lin," rasps Luther from behind me. "You've got a client."


End file.
